Silent stars with quiet glints
Upon the midnight dark skies print
And the moon so subtly hints
The hooting owls to gently pray

Here with heels dug in the sod
My palms are smeared with sticky mud
My head prostrate, I talk to God
To rain mercies upon my grave

Standing here a man with sins
Deeds of ill in many scenes
Done to sorts of many beings
But my absolution is with my Liege

There across the wide expanse
As if were caught in a sickly trance
My conscience struck with conscious lance
Is waning pale and dies away

Here the man that was alive
Washed and shrouded, will arrive
Died of what some else'd survive
But time was due and done he is